Morocco
by joojoo
Summary: He waited whilst she walked, played whilst she remained stoic. She was a pawn in his chest set, he said. All the while she stood, never faltering under his searching gaze - because manipulation and control take skill, but revenge takes patience.


"All that glitters is not gold".

**Morocco**

_He waited whilst she walked, played whilst she remained stoic. It was a game of cat and mouse, he said; one in which had long been a master. She was a pawn in his chest set, he said. All the while she stood, never faltering under his searching gaze - because manipulation and control take skill, but revenge takes patience._

I wait.

The window is clouded, doused in dust and covered by the clinging droplets of vapour from the chill outside. Cobwebs embrace to the corners, their intricate design opulentagainst the drab, peeling paint and splintered wood it lies against. A spider scuttles along, his expert legs dexterously managing to avoid causing any damage to the palace he has built.

I squash the bastard; its body crushes beneath my palm and I feel nothing. The spider is gone, and now I am alone.

Taking out a cigarette, I light it, and bring it up to my cold lips inhaling the hot, poisonous black fumes. I feel them creeping down my throat, systematically filling into my lungs and blood with what it hates and loves - needs so desperately. I make smoke rings to pass the time, never taking my eye off the glass pane in front of me. My mind thinks of the night, and a smirk creeps up my face. Some things are worth waiting for.

A scurrying sound from behind the walls breaks the otherwise stifling silence and makes known the presence of the rats who have long named this place their own. And yet, even they know not to do as they please in my presence. They know this because of rather generous gift of the mutilated body of the last piece of vermin that decided it would dare force on me its presence that I left on their doorstep.

Time creeps by, and, slowly, a shadow falls upon my face. Using the splintered wood of the window still, I stub out my cigarette, scorching through the already rough plank. My eyes remain trained on the vague outline of the landscape outside, whilst my mind recounts the day in which I struck gold.

She'd been pathetic, really… so easily caught in that little ambush I had set using that drunken idiot. I can vividly remember her cries of panic, her shudders and pathetic attempts to wriggle free of the burly man's grasp. Even more sharply, I can remember the strong urge that flooded my senses; to have her writhe under _me_ with such desperation.

I admit, I had thought - at first - she would be a tough customer. What with her previous connections, I doubted very much she wanted anything to do with me. Indeed, to begin with she was stand-offish, cold and sported quite a sharp tongue. Though with me, ice does not take long to melt.

I caught her breath hitch in her throat whenever my fingers brushed against her arm. I caught her heated gaze on my lips when she thought I was not looking. I caught her make a move to reach out for me and then suddenly pull away, and yet I remained calm. I appeared nonchalant. But I caught her in the end.

Her lips, hard on mine; her hard, laboured breath; her touch against my skin, her trembling hands as they fumbled their way past nerves and straight to rapture.

I've caught her hook, line and sinker.

More than once she has come back to me, here in this very same run down shack of which I am master. More than once I have had her back arched, her hips digging in to mine on the plank of wood and scrap of fabric behind me. I've had her before; from the smooth curve of her breasts to her small waist to her slender legs, and I will have her again. It is undisputable.

She called me here tonight. It was but a little note, not more than one word, though I have long known that words are overrated. The only thing I want to hear coming out of her parted lips are heavy breaths, guttural moans and whimpers for more– all induced by myself, of course.

My cigarette dangles on my lip as I see her outline walking towards the shack. Her long, fiery mane swings behind her, marking her from a mile away. Even through the dust and grime, I can make out her willowy figure, and the flattering way in which her garments grip her sensuous frame.

-

I am walking at a brisk pace, my raincoat hugging my body, my black heels clattering on the pavement as I make my way towards him. He'll be there; I know it. Why? Because I asked him to be; and he does not refuse my requests. He thinks he has me in the palm of his hands, the foolish boy, but he is wrong – incredibly so. I am no plaything. When he attempts to close his hand, the rose he is delicately holding will ruthlessly pierce his skin, and I will laugh.

I look down at my watch, and notice I am running late. I allow myself a smile, because tonight, I have all the time in the world.

Tonight, it will end.

My hands, though gloved, are buried deep within the folds of my jacket. The rancorous wind blows against me, and I burrow my nose and mouth into my woollen scarf to hide from the icy chill. It is a cold February; the coldest in forty years, in fact. Today is the coldest day of the month so far.

Earlier on, I had been nervous about this confrontation. It is a surprise attack, and nothing can afford to go wrong. I must slip him half-truths, catch his bluffs and work my way to victory by using all my wit, all my knowledge and all my strength. I must hit him where he is most weak, most vulnerable. Timing is everything tonight. He cannot be allowed to continue.

Turning the corner, I reach the little alleyway that leads to the little shack Draco has so courteously provided us with. I laugh at his pathetic attempts to keep me in line. How does he think he can manage me, when so many before him have failed?

From the off, it has been planned. From the night where I acted defenceless and foolish, to my methodical cracking of persona, until now; I have been biding my time. Not only do I know his secret, but they are mine. They are my weapons now, and I can use them to exact revenge.

Mayhap I sound evil, but years of slow, torturous pain does this. Hurt once and you heal, twice and you are bruised, but third, you are scarred. There is only so much the body and mind can take until they are no longer able of showing pain, or emotion. Once a line has been crossed, whatever you are hit by, nothing hurts. Numbness spreads through your body and becomes the norm. No longer can you feel the warmth of your mother's embrace, the sincerity of your friend's pleas, or the affection that pours from your brother's eyes. All that is left is your empty shell and your numb smile. You smile and act, because apart from living someone else's life, there is nothing left you can do.

For me, there hadn't been. Now though, this task has given me a purpose, a goal. Tonight, I will play a few scenes, and then the deed will be done. Draco Malfoy will be reduced to a shell of his former self, and I will be the cause of it.

I open the door with confidence, and step in.

-

The door creeks open behind me, but I do not move. I act blasé, enjoying the hesitation I imagine is playing with the girl's face behind me.

"You're already here."

"You didn't specify a time."

I turn around, ready to stare at my prize. The confusion I had imagined is not visible in her eyes; they are dark and full of a wanting so desperate that I do not care. Her strides towards me are strong and confident, and suddenly she has grabbed my shirt and is pulling me towards her, locking her reddened lips over mine.

My cigarette drops to the ground, and she stuffs it out with the heel of her shoe. Through her thick lashes she gazes up at me, and I hesitate no longer. My tongue slides over her neck: tasting every freckle, covering every contour of her body. Her hands work their way under my shirt and over my shoulders, her nails digging into my back ruthlessly, sending illicit senses shivering down my spine.

Blindly I lead the way to the make-shift bed, all the way leaving a trail of unwanted garments. Our frenzied movements do not allow for distance. I grab at her body, thrusting her towards me with as much strength as I can muster. She wraps her leg around my body as we fall onto the thin sheets of fabric.

Heat.

It is all I can see, touch and feel. From her gasps and the intensity of which she is reaching for my skin, I know that she is the same. I reach for her bra strap, deftly undoing it and ripping it from her body. My senses are lost. Sound, sight, scent touch and taste are all intermingled and it wreaks havoc with my body as I slip my hand under her underwear and let it rest on her side for a while before tantalisingly slowly letting the fabric creep down her body. I can feel her need grow within her, her desperation climbing.

My hand rests on her inner thigh, and her scream of frustration rips through the momentary pall of silence that had settled between us. She closes the gap once more, and the touch of our bare bodies this time leads to erotic bliss. I lower myself into her, and we both gasp out and cry as we fall once again into the random, erratic rhythm of our lust.

-

Sweat trickling down my back; I turn to stare at the heaving chest of the woman beside me. Her breasts rise and fall, slowly rediscovering its natural, predictable rhythm. A lock of fiery red hair is plastered to her face, and her lips are swollen I have ravished them. My gaze follows the contours of her body, which lay uncovered due to lack of material. Her neck is covered with love bites, and patches of her pale skin looks tinged with pink. Her legs are sprawled outwards in exhaustion, and I find myself aching for another go. Rolling over, I am suddenly on top of her with my elbows carrying my weight. I roll my hips down on to hers and I see her neck roll backwards as I knew it would. The stretch of flesh is what I need, and I make for it, giving her the little kisses that she cannot resist.

She grabs my hair in her hands, using it to bring my ears to her lips. I continue to suck at her neck, though with more and more intensity, using one of my hands to hold her hips firmly in place, sure that I cannot cope for much longer.

"Draco…"

My body aches as it desperately wants to move on, but she flips me over and now she has the upper hand of the situation. Sensually she lowers her bare body on top of mine, and I am ready to burst with pleasure. Her husky voice sets my nerves on fire and yet I am too lost to do anything.

Her low voice moans into my ear. "Draco, I know everything."

My brain doesn't register the finality of her tone, and I continue to trail kisses down her neck. She tilts her head to the side once more, but this time it is more out of inquisitiveness than ardour. Her sudden passivity towards my embraces stirs me out of my reverie and I look up, meeting he hard gaze.

"I know, Draco."

The heat has gone, and an icy silence has replaced it. Shivers run down my spine, and I roll off her, pulling on my clothes one by one. She lies down; still not much bothered about covering herself from view. I watch her as she picks on the threads of the sheet absent-mindedly as I wrack my brain, desperately wanting to know what it is she knows.

Surely she's just playing with me?

And I slap myself, wondering why I have let the tables turn so easily. Three simple words and she had me turned into a shaking like a leaf. There is no proof, I know it. She will see that she cannot beat me at my own game.

"Know what?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. My gaze falls upon her, and I curse myself for the thoughts that fill my mind. I know I cannot afford failure. Failure is not acceptable.

She is silent. Her eyes search mine, though her lips do not part for me as I wish them to. I can feel my control of the situation slipping. My shirt is half on, my trousers half-way up my legs, and I look lost. I know it. Surely she doesn't know the secret behind my success – the reason behind the _accidental_ death of her dear ex-lover, the one behind her _coincidental _attack at the back door of the Hog's Head?

She stands up, bare, and stares me in the eye. I, though covered, turn my head away in shame. It is a wrong move, but I am helpless; spineless. I have heard it for years, and undoubtedly I will hear it again, but up until now, I have refused to acknowledge it. Her deep chocolate brown eyes are hard, and I know that this time, Lady Luck will not allow me to have my way.

"Your spies work for me now, Draco. Thanks for them – they're really useful. But that's only half of the favour that you owe me."

Her sultry tone has faded, and is replaced by one that chills me to the bone. My eyes shut, though I tilt my chin up in a last stance of defiance. I know what is coming.

"Any last words, Draco?" her voice flitted through me as if from a long lost dream. I am gone already; I do not belong.

"Keep them well. And remember Weasley, all that glitters is not gold."

"Only you would think of gold at a moment like this," she scoffed, flicking her long red hair behind her. "Goodbye, Draco."

A rush of air; a high force gale, and I am no more.

-

I breathe heavily, and my hands start to shake; my lower lip trembles. Leaning against the wall, naked, I fall to the ground, my wand arm limp. I feel liquid flowing down my cheeks, and it is only when I see the glittering droplet on my skin that I notice that everything that has been locked up and hidden for so long has been finally let loose. A cracked laugh escapes my lips, and my eyes furtively look from side to side.

No, all that glitters is not gold, but silver does just as well for me.


End file.
